


Passing Through

by Michelle



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, top!Leggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: While journeying to Rivendell, Legolas is attacked by orcs. Rescue comes in the form of a mysterious (st)ranger.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 7





	Passing Through

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Passing Through  
> Author: Michelle  
> Email: michelle [at] waking-vision.com  
> Beta: Nancy  
> Summary: While journeying to Rivendell, Legolas is attacked by orcs. Rescue comes in the form of a mysterious (st)ranger.  
> Pairing: A/L  
> Genre: FPS  
> Warnings: AU, top!Leggy  
> Rating: NC17  
> Disclaimer: Was there ever any doubt that neither the characters nor the settings are mine?  
> Author's Note: In some ways, this is a very typical story for me. In others, it’s not. The story wouldn’t leave me alone, so I decided to write it down.

_Ich bin der erste, der dich befreit,_

_und einer der letzten, der um dich weint._

(“Und wenn ein Lied”, Söhne Mannheims)

~*~

Legolas Thranduilion had never been this far from his home. It was not that his young years had prevented him from seeing the world. Rather, he had never felt the urge to roam outside the borders of his home, the forest of Mirkwood. The trees of his father’s realm, dark and foreboding as they might seem to a stranger, had ever been enough for him. Perhaps he would never have crossed the Anduin to travel west, had not the need been so dire. Things were in motion. Not even the reclusive Silvan elves could ignore the fact that the wheels of fate had started turning faster with every passing year. They heard it in the birdsong that brought stories from the Southern lands. They heard it in the shrill cry of the falcon that circled above the treetops seeing further than any elf. They tasted it in the water of their rivers, coming from Rhûn and telling strange tales. They saw it in the eyes of their visitors, who became less and less as the years went by.

They had hidden away in their secluded realm, content to keep their own roads as safe as possible. The world invaded all on its own, though, and if they hoped not to be overrun they would have to make their move. Thranduil realized that and with a heavy heart he decided to send his son to seek out the other elven lands. And so Legolas packed provisions and saddled his horse. He left on a cold October morning, when geese were forming great triangles in the clear blue sky, and rode steadily west to seek out Lord Elrond’s fabled refuge on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

It was late in the year, which made crossing the looming mountains all the harder. The weather would change without a moment’s notice and Legolas had so far witnessed biting winds, sudden hailstorms and warm afternoons – and he had not even reached the highest point of the pass yet. He was not one to run from a challenge, though, and soon a sense of adventure awoke in him that he had never felt to such an extent. He found that he thoroughly enjoyed the journey and decided to drink in all the new sensations fighting for his attention.

Legolas had almost reached the crest of the mountain, when he woke to the sensation of cold, wet snowflakes landing on his nose. There had been no cave to rest in for the night, so Legolas had slept huddled against a steep cliff, hoping it would provide enough shelter from the harsh winds beating against the mountain. The falling snow woke him ere the sun had fully risen and the world around him was a grey and mute nothingness. His horse whinnied pitifully, obviously remembering the warm and comfortable stable it had left behind in Mirkwood, and Legolas decided to get going at once, because the movement would warm their bodies.

It was soon apparent that this was not a day made for travelling. The weather refused to improve and every time Legolas assumed things could not get worse, the snow started to fall harder, swirling about his face as if to mock him. The clouds hung low in the sky, great masses of almost black shadows, embracing and caressing the highest peaks. From time to time Legolas was uncertain whether he was walking through fog or through a cloud. The sun stood no chance to pierce this gloom and warm the icy earth with its rays. Legolas worried about the weather, cursing this eternal twilight. It was dangerous, he knew. Wild creatures roamed the mountains, wild creatures who loved the dark. Legolas felt like unsuspecting game, unwittingly inviting a hunter to take his best shot.

The elf walked steadily upwards, leading his horse because the path was too narrow and slippery to ride. He desperately hoped to find shelter soon, even if he feared he could easily walk by anything suitable because his eyes could hardly pierce the gloom. It was not even midday and he loathed the fact that waiting out this weather would lengthen his journey, but at the same time he realized that it was too dangerous to travel much further today.

The path widened a little, giving Legolas a bit more room to maneuver. To the left was the steep rockface and to the right the mountain sloped downwards in gentle rolls. They were too high up for any vegetation, even if the season had been right for anything to grow. The lack of anything green gave the surroundings a bleak and forlorn atmosphere. Still, Legolas would have liked to see the view from up here, wondering how far one would be able to see, but the snow fell too hard and the fog was too dense.

It was his horse who noticed the danger first. The young gelding pranced nervously and turned his ears back in fright. Legolas was trying to calm the spooked animal when he heard suspicious sounds. There was a shuffling noise ahead of him, as if heavy feet were carelessly treading on the stony ground. Metal clanked against metal, a cacophonous symphony, and hoarse cries in the Black Speech reached his ears.

“Curse it,” Legolas muttered under his breath while letting go of his horse’s reins, because he would need both hands for his bow. The horse bolted the second it felt its freedom within reach and galloped away from Legolas at a breakneck pace. He would have worried for the safety of his mount, fearing it might slip and tumble to a certain death, but the elf was busy preparing for battle. There was no chance to evade the party coming down from the mountain as there was no place where he could hide or flee to.

The sounds of a large band of orcs became louder and more frightening, and Legolas adjusted his stance on the treacherous ground and gripped his bow tightly. He took a deep, steadying breath before his eyes fixed on the path ahead, waiting for the moment he could detect the first enemy with certainty.

Soon the fog spit out the first orcs, who paused in their advance, obviously surprised to see a lone elf blocking their path. They rallied soon enough, clanking their crude scimitars against their breastplates in an attempt to instill fear and dread in their enemy. It worked, mostly because Legolas saw more and more orcs on the path, and realized he would be unable to stand against them for long. They raised their weapons to attack, running forward with hoarse cries, and Legolas killed two of the beasts with his arrows, rejoicing when he saw them fall. Those first casualties only incensed the orcs more and they rushed forward, trying to overtake one another in the hope of reaching the elf first.

Legolas had fought many foes, but he knew he would stand no chance against such a large number. He would try nonetheless, for what other option was there? He let go of his bow, when the orcs were too near for an arrow to do any good, and unsheathed his twin knives instead. He saw crude scimitars whirl about him, dirty with blood and earth, but sharp nonetheless, and he deflected one attack after the other. Soon, he could not say how many he had killed and how many remained, but he started to feel weary and tired. Orc blood was running down his blades, making his grip slippery where it covered his hands. Yet, he had no time to adjust his grip or stance, because the orcs rushed him again and again, the tide of their attack never lessening.

Legolas stabbed an orc to his left and turned his eyes to the next opponent before the beast had even dropped to the ground. He swung the blade in his right in a wide arc, grazing the shoulder of an advancing orc. Legolas ducked, evading a crossbow bolt that whirred past without doing any damage when the orcs suddenly seemed to pause in their attack. They stood motionless for a moment, some of them giving a screech of terror. Legolas used the lull in fighting to do away with the opponent to his right, but even he was confused as to what was diverting the orcs’ attention.

He let his attention stray only for a moment, because he did not dare let his prey out of his sight for longer than necessary. However, one glance further up the path was enough to spot the motionless figure standing there, its silhouette almost invisible in the heavy snowfall. The newcomer was no orc, a thing Legolas realized instantly even if he could not see the other’s face or clothing. The stranger stood with his sword drawn, the weapon pointing downwards and scraping against the stony ground as if it was too heavy to hold upright. No battlecry escaped the newcomer’s lips and he had yet to make a move towards the orcs, but even so about half a dozen of the creatures abandoned their companions without further ado. They ran down the slope, tumbling over each other in their haste to get away from the fight.

Legolas frowned, wondering at the strange reaction, and beheaded the orc in front of him, whose attention had been drawn to the newcomer – in turn forgetting that Legolas’ blades were the more immediate danger. The motion alerted the orcs that the elf was still present and they attacked him with new zeal. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, Legolas could see that the stranger had joined the fight, killing every orc that stepped into his path with grim determination. He fought silently, his sword describing wide arcs in the air and cutting through the advancing orcs without pause.

Legolas noticed with satisfaction that the orcs were lessening, and their attacks became weaker and more infrequent. He was just starting to hope that he would indeed survive this encounter – a thing he would have found impossible half an hour ago – when an ominous whizzing noise caught his attention. When he could finally put a name to the noise he was already too late to duck. A crossbow bolt embedded itself in his left shoulder with a wet thud and Legolas staggered backwards from the sheer force. He gritted his teeth against the pain and managed to stay upright. He brought up his knives in front of him to ward off any remaining orc that would dare exploit his injury. His eyes watered from the searing pain engulfing his shoulder and his vision grew blurry. He needed all his strength to simply stay on his feet, but that meant that he did not manage more than a half-hearted wave with the knife, the motion born from instinct rather than skill. His blade met with steel suddenly, the clang reverberating up his arm and overbalancing him. Before he could react to the attack someone gripped his hand, trying to pry the blade from his stiff fingers.

Legolas resisted, tugging fiercely at the weapon, because it was his last means of defense. Whoever tried to take the knife from him was not deterred. The sure grip on his hand remained, gentle yet strong, and a calm voice reached his ears. “Shh, let go. I mean you no harm.”

Whether he wanted to or not, the words were enough to rob him his last vestiges of strength. His knees gave way and he prepared for landing hard on the ground, but someone steadied him suddenly, taking all of his weight and helping him to sit without injuring himself further. Legolas was breathing harshly, trying to will away the pain in his shoulder, but it would not recede. He felt blood running down his arm, warm and slick. His vision wavered and he sagged forward, into the person who was holding him. The shaft of the bolt caught on the other’s shoulder and light exploded in front of Legolas’ eyes. The pain increased so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that he had no chance to bite back his cry. The motion drilled the bolt deeper into his shoulder, grating against bone, and the sickening feeling of being split in two caused the last of his strength to give way. Legolas heard someone mutter “damn” under his breath, but before he could discover who had spoken, his mind gave up its resistance and he slipped into unconsciousness with a quiet sigh, almost glad that he could escape reality for a while.

~*~

He came to feeling disoriented. He knew neither where he was nor how much time had passed. The first thing he became aware of was the burning pain in his shoulder, and he regretted that it had not simply vanished while he had trod the land of dreams. He remembered being shot, just when he had deemed the skirmish over, and cursed his bad luck and inattention. Legolas was tempted to wallow in his own misery for a little while, but after a minute his stubbornness won the fight against the wish to simply let go and drift away again. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but snow, white and wet. His feet came into view, seemingly unattached to his body since he did not feel like he was walking, shuffling forward with difficulty. It was an odd sensation to see one’s feet walk without having the impression that one’s own mind was in any way part of the endeavour. Experimentally, he tried to help his feet along and straightened his body a bit, but the simple motion cost effort and he gave a frustrated moan.

“Keep moving, just like that. It is not much further,” someone said to his left and it was only now that Legolas realized he was being bodily moved through the high snowdrifts. He felt the warm presence of another person and took comfort from the knowledge that he was not alone on this vast mountain, before realizing that he had no way of knowing whether he had ended up in friendly company. He had naught to lose at the moment, so he tried to help the one who was all but carrying him by putting one foot in front of the other, concentrating on the movement as if he was a small elfling taking his first steps.

The presence next to him noticed and encouraged him. “Good, just a few more steps. See, there is a cave ahead.” Legolas took the other’s word for it, because he did not dare take his eyes from his feet, lest he lose the rhythm of  _left-right-left-right_ . That would surely cause him to stumble and the stranger would have to carry his whole weight once again.

Suddenly the ground changed. The snow gave way to naked rock and the biting wind ceased to tug at his hair and clothing. Legolas was helped deeper into what he hoped was the promised cave. He was lowered gently onto a fur and he sighed, thankful that no more movement would be required of him. There were hands on his body, rearranging his limbs until he was lying flat on his back. Another fur was tugged around his body, warming his chilled bones at once.

“Just rest here for a while. I will start a fire before tending your wound.” And with those parting words, he was left alone.

Legolas was exhausted from the trail through the snow and his current position lent itself to the idea of simply sleeping for a bit, but his curiosity won out. He turned his head to the side to peruse his surroundings and was surprised to find that the cave, for he indeed had been taken to a cave, looked very much lived in. Not far from his resting place was a ring of small stones, forming a fireplace. He could see a pack stashed into one of the many niches and next to it was a collection of weapons: knives, two bows, a sword – all in good shape as far as Legolas could see. Pots and pans were located near the fireplace, but the elf could not guess their content.

Between all these things his rescuer navigated with sure steps, indicating that this cave was his home. It was a man, as Legolas could now see. He grabbed some of the pots as well as some of the knives and dug deep into his pack before settling next to the fireplace, working a flintstone until little sparks ignited. Legolas observed the stranger silently, whose face was illuminated when the small fire started to lick greedily at the pieces of wood the man was feeding the flames. The stranger seemed tall, even while kneeling down, and his angular face was framed by a wild array of dark locks. He seemed a bit unkempt, surely he had not taken a brush to his hair in the last week, and his clothes, mostly in hues of brown and dark green, showed that they had been stitched many a time. Yet, he had an honest face. Legolas felt unable to guess the man’s age, but that did not concern him overmuch. It was rare that he had dealings with the Secondborn and was therefore not used to read their faces for clues. There was no grey in the man’s hair, something Legolas knew would indicate old age. He could see no wrinkles either, if one did not count the few crowsfeet that appeared around the man’s eyes while he perused one of the pots intently. His eyes were of a very light grey, and even if something seemed off about his gaze, it did not look like he meant Legolas ill.

Nothing had been spoken after the man had helped him lie down and he had not looked up to see how his elven companion fared, so Legolas was left to his own thoughts, reading in the other’s face what he could and coming to the conclusion that it was unlikely he had ended up in the company of a thief or bandit.

When the fire was burning merrily, illuminating the cave and spreading comforting tendrils of warmth, the man gathered his pots and instruments and came over to Legolas. He looked at the elf in surprise. “I did not notice you were awake. Why did not you not say so, I would have hurried my steps!”

”I did not mean to press you. It was you who helped me against those orcs, was it not?” Legolas could not be sure since he had not seen the other’s face clearly during the battle.

“It was,” the man nodded. “My name is Strider. It is my pleasure to be of assistance to one of the Firstborn.”

Strider, hardly the man’s real name, Legolas thought in amusement. “Well met, Strider. I am Legolas and I thank you for being of assistance.” He smiled at the man, who mirrored Legolas’ good spirits at once. Strider chuckled, a rolling sound that came from deep within his chest, and Legolas saw how the man’s lips turned upwards.

“Well, the hard part is still ahead.” He knelt down next to Legolas and eyed the wounded shoulder critically. Legolas gulped involuntarily. He knew it had to be done, but having witnessed Strider’s prowess as a warrior did nothing to instill hope in him that the man would be just as confident in dealing with an injury.

Strider carefully lifted away Legolas’ blood-stained clothing, cutting the fabric open to get a better look at the wound. Legolas squinted to see how bad it was and gulped once he had a clear view of the crude bolt sticking out of his shoulder. To keep his attention elsewhere, he spoke. “It was quite impressive how you managed to do away with those orcs. I saw some flee only at the sight of you.” His voice was strained, but Strider did not comment on it.

The man chuckled again, but was not deterred from inspecting the wound. His fingers probed the edges lightly and Legolas shuddered at the touch, even if Strider made an effort to be as gentle as possible. “Well, I think I have something of a reputation up here.”

Legolas remembered what he had observed moments before. “So you live here?”

“Yes, but not for much longer.” Strider looked at Legolas as if he meant to convey something that could not be told in words. There was a moment of silence between them, before the man spoke again. “The rangers keep the roads safe, even if there are hardly any travellers around this time of year. What caused you to attempt the pass? If you don’t mind me asking.” Strider did not look up from his work and Legolas got the distinct impression that the man was only furthering the conversation to keep him distracted from the pain.

“My destination is Rivendell.” There was no use in keeping that information secret. “I was sent to seek Lord Elrond’s counsel.”

At hearing Legolas’ word s the man looked up in surprise, but before Legolas could inquire what had piqued Strider’s interest, he bowed his head again, peering closely at the wound.

“The bolt is deeply embedded. I will be as careful as possible, but – unsurprisingly – it will hurt.” He put a few clean rags within easy reach. “I will be swift about it.” 

Strider had cut away quite a bit of cloth, leaving Legolas’ shoulder bare. Legolas could see clearly that the bolt had hit him only a few inches above his heart. The wound was bleeding sluggishly at the moment, the bolt sealing the injury quite effectively, but Legolas knew that would change as soon as the bolt was removed. Strider grasped Legolas’ shoulder with his left hand and closed his right firmly around the crossbow bolt. Nothing further happened and Legolas wondered whether the man had lost his courage.

“Whenever you are ready.” The man’s voice sounded very near to his own face and belatedly Legolas realized that Strider had been waiting for his consent. He took two deep breaths, rallying his strength, and then nodded. He had not even finished the motion when Strider drew out the bolt with one smooth move. 

It still hurt, of course, and despite Legolas’ initial resolve to bear the treatment in silence, he heard his own cry resound sharply in the cave. He moved involuntarily, trying to get away from the excruciating pain, but the retreat was stopped by strong hands holding on to his upper body. He felt warm blood pool on his shoulder before something was pressed against the wound. He moaned, wondering fleetingly why he was tortured so.

Legolas’ vision swam. He could not say what he was seeing, but he was certain that he had not yet closed his eyes. There were muted colours and a blurred face that came into view, only to disappear again. His hazy vision made him sick and the sudden dizziness caused him to breathe harshly in the hope of settling the sudden feeling of vertigo.

He was drifting, the pain only a faint echo in his mind. He liked that, the warmth, the tiredness and the obvious detachment from his own hurts. They were at least preferable to the pain the waking world would bring.

“Good, breathe slowly.” The voice sounded far away and a bit distorted, but Legolas could still make out the words. “Just like that.” Apparently, he was following the voice’s instructions, even if he had not noticed that he had adjusted his breathing.

“Now, open your eyes,” the voice instructed, sounding encouraging. He had closed his eyes? When had that happened? He tried to pry his eyes open, but found it to be hard.

“Very good!” Good? Had he done anything? Apparently he had, because he noticed light filtering in. Something moved in front of his eyes. He looked harder, focusing on his surroundings until his vision stopped wavering. Only then did he recognize Strider sitting in front of him.

“There you are again.” The man smiled and Legolas felt how his upper body was lifted slightly. “For a moment I thought you would lose consciousness again. Here, sip some of that. It’s just water.”

Something touched his lips and Legolas opened his mouth obediently. Cool liquid ran down his throat and he swallowed thankfully. The water revived him and soon he found he could open his eyes fully. When his thirst was quelled he blinked at Strider who reacted instantly and took away the flask.

Strider took his time to press one piece of cloth after another on Legolas’ shoulder until it stopped bleeding. Legolas used the time to come back fully to awareness. The shoulder hurt and the blood loss made him feel lethargic, but the notion that the worst was behind him gave him new strength.

“I will bind the wound, then you can rest. I know the Firstborn are resilient and their hurts heal much faster than a man’s, but I think you should not attempt further travelling today.”

Legolas chuckled, amused that the ranger would think him able to travel. “I do not think I could even stand up at the moment, let alone travel.”

“Then you are welcome to stay here until you feel better.” 

“My thanks,” Legolas said tiredly and tried not to resist when Strider moved his body until he was able to wrap a bandage around the wounded shoulder. 

“You are quite welcome. I will leave you to your rest, Legolas.” Strider made to stand, wanting to give the elf some space, but Legolas did not long for solitude. He grabbed the man’s hand to halt his progress, surprising himself more than Strider with his bold move. “Do not leave, I would care for some company.”

Strider let himself be pulled back to the elf’s side. When he was sitting again, he gently put Legolas’ hand onto the elf’s stomach, letting it rest there. “What do you want my company for? I can see you are worn out.”

“Just some talk,” Legolas shrugged as much as was possible while lying down. “I have been on the road for some weeks now and would like some conversation.”

“All right,” the man agreed and seemed to search his mind for a topic they could discuss. He came up blank. “What would you like to talk about? I'm afraid I will prove boring as a conversationalist. Not much happens up here that would prove worthy to speak about.” 

Legolas could not help but smile, feeling that the man was downplaying his stay up on the mountain. “From what I have seen today, your days up here are far from boring! I would never have been able to dispose of the whole band without your timely arrival.”

“Their numbers are increasing again,” Strider said seriously. “I do remember a time when one could chance travelling the mountains at night. It was never quite safe, even back then, but nowadays you would not last until morn arrives. And the bad weather certainly worked in the orcs’ favour today. The less sun the better, at least in their opinion.”

“Why then are you up here alone? Certainly you do not hope to keep the roads safe all by yourself?” Legolas was truly intrigued. It was a strange concept to him, that someone would guard a public road, without asking for any kind of payment. At least, it did not agree with what his father had told him about humans. They were supposed to be more self-centered and less pleasant company.

Strider shrugged as if he meant to apologize for being the sole guard up on the mountain. “The rangers are stretched thin and most of the men are posted further west. Even if we could spare the men, there is hardly reason to station a larger number here. This late in the year, few attempt to pass the mountain and none of them would dare to do it alone.”

What could have been a reprimand was gentled by the fact that Strider looked at Legolas in amusement.

“So you think I was foolish to travel this way?” Legolas asked and Strider grinned broadly.

“Brave, foolish? Where is the difference? And besides, there are only so many roads leading from Mirkwood to Rivendell. You chose the most obvious one, who would fault you for that?” He was still chuckling softly and his eyes shone with merriment. Once again, Legolas could not shake the thought that something in the man’s eyes was slightly unsettling. It was not a sense of malice or danger that Legolas perceived but rather a diffuse feeling of something just being wrong. But wrong in what way? Legolas peered at the ranger closely, trying to see anything that had escaped him on first glance, but no new insight was forthcoming. Strider appeared to be honest, brave, selfless and generally good company. Despite the fact that Legolas was wounded, that his shoulder throbbed and his mind started to drift as soon as he stopped concentrating on the conversation, he truly enjoyed being in Strider’s company. He had not felt such sudden kinship in a long while and for a moment he regretted that they would have to part ways as soon as his shoulder allowed him to travel.

“Legolas? Are you still with me?” Strider’s question came in a hushed voice as if he feared waking Legolas if he had truly fallen asleep.

“Forgive me, my thoughts were drifting.” Legolas shifted slightly in the hope of finding a more comfortable position.

“You really should rest. We can talk more once you wake.” Strider’s hand brushed against Legolas’ forehead and the elf liked how cool and comforting it felt against his hot skin. He turned his head to the side to invite further touch, but Strider only looked at him worriedly.

“I fear you are running a fever, my friend.”

Legolas smiled at being called friend, but his eyelids felt heavy. “Elves do not suffer from fevers,” he told the man, assuming his knowledge of the Firstborn was limited at best. He did not want to discuss this, his thoughts were all running into each other and he feared if he chose to speak more, his words would not make any sense to the man.

“They do when they were shot by an orc,” Strider said decidedly and tucked the fur tighter around Legolas’ frame when the elf started to shiver.

“Oh, that.” Somehow, Legolas lacked the energy to argue further. He dragged his eyes open and saw the man hover nervously. A smile tugged at his mouth despite the fact that the cave around him started to tilt and shift.

“How long have you been up here?” It had just been a random thought chasing through his mind. He only realized that he had spoken out loud, when he saw the surprised look on Strider’s face.

“Umm,” Strider looked around himself uncertainly as if he expected the answer to come from the items strewn about the cave. “Actually...” Once again he fell silent and a frown appeared on his forehead, indicating he was thinking hard. Legolas might have found Strider’s flustering humorous if it had not been for the near desperation with which the man seemed to search for an answer.

“What year do we have?” Strider asked, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks red. Legolas was shocked at hearing the admission, but the emotion was dulled by the fact that reality as a whole seemed to become blunt around the edges. It was hard to concentrate, harder even to make out the look on Strider’s face. He was so very tired.

The world was drifting away from him and when the bottom seemed to drop below him, swallowing him body and mind, a last lucid thought flashed through his awareness. Wearily, his voice slurring and limping over his consonants, he said, “You must have been so alone.”

There was no answer, or maybe Legolas simply missed it, for as soon as the words had left his mouth, consciousness finally fled him and he welcomed darkness’ embrace.

~*~

His awareness returned gradually and Legolas was fighting the waking world every step of the way. He believed the black void from which he was so slowly ascending was much preferable to the aches that made themselves known with every deep breath he took. His mind worked slowly, tiredly and remained always a step away from wakefulness. Detachedly, Legolas could feel his body, though he did not know whether he could move, even if he tried. His limbs felt heavy, as if he was weighed down by stones causing him to sink deep into a bottomless sea. His skin was hot and dry and his thoughts dragged sluggishly, because his consciousness was unable to slip past the fever that held sway over his body. His blood was boiling, bubbling like hot water right under his skin. A sound slipped past his unguarded lips, a quiet moan that was testament to the discomfort his body was in, even if his mind was not fully unaware of it. He breathed with difficulty, because the air felt alive and burnt his aching lungs, as if he was breathing living fire. Legolas longed for cool and fresh air in his lungs, but instead his breath rattled exhaustedly, burning his insides. The discomfort caused him to shy away from the patches of reality that started to make their way into his protesting mind. He was just about to flee back into the black abyss from which he had so shortly escaped, when something cool touched his chest. Maybe Nienna herself was taking pity upon his plight and decided to hold her cool and smooth hand to his aching flesh. The touch was light and gentle, brushing repeatedly against his heated skin. The caress eased his mind and calmed his thoughts. He sighed in bliss and managed to ascend for a moment, dragging his eyelids open only to be blinded by all the light surrounding him.

“Sleep.” The voice was not what he would have expected from a Queen of the Valar, neither sublime nor overly graceful. However, the command reached his ears while the cool touch remained and he fell back into an exhausted sleep, his lips slightly open and ready to receive the cool air that was breathed into them.

When he woke next, his mind felt more like his own again. He kept his eyes closed, not yet ready to face the waking world, and tried to take stock of his body. His shoulder ached, but that was to be expected after being shot. Cool air brushed against his upper body and Legolas wondered why he was so obviously naked. He was in the process of solving that puzzle, when a wet cloth was placed on his forehead.

He opened his eyes and looked right into Strider’s concerned face. The fear apparent in the man’s gaze caused him to close his eyes again. He did not like being the cause for such worry.

“Legolas? Are you awake?” Strider asked tentatively. Instead of answering, Legolas nodded, which did nothing to remove Strider’s hand from his forehead, where it was still holding on to the cloth that had been placed there only a moment ago.

“Thank the Valar!” Legolas could hear heartfelt emotion in the admission. Strider must have been truly afraid for his life.

“What happened? I only remember that we were talking.”

“We were. You fell asleep on me. I thought it was simply the blood loss and pain, so it took me precious time to realize that the bolt had been poisoned. I apologize. My negligence almost cost you your life.”

It was strange to have the man practically apologize for saving Legolas’ life. He grabbed Strider’s hand and removed the cloth from his forehead, hoping the motion would convince the ranger that he was on the mend. “There is no need to apologize. Without you, I would have suffered much more than a single wound.” He would be dead by now, or the captive of orcs – and neither possibility was very desirable in his opinion.

Legolas noticed the changed light in the cave and tried to peer outside. “Is it night?”  
“It is,” Strider agreed. “Almost midnight, actually. You were running a high fever and it took me hours to bring it down. In a way, the weather worked to our advantage, because I could use snow to cool your body. You woke several times, but you never realized where you were. However, you pulled through in the end. So it is true what they say, the Firstborn are not so easily killed.”

It seemed he truly had trod very near to the Halls of Mandos for a while and Legolas was rather glad that he had slept through the worst of it – and that the Valar had kindly put him in the company of such a knowledgeable human.

“I think I want to sit up,” Legolas said, feeling that he had been lying down for the longest time. Though, _wanting_ to sit up did not necessarily mean he _could_ sit up. He felt exhausted and tired, and the fact that as an elf he was unused to such weakness made everything only worse.

Strider looked dubious, but decided to help the elf in his endeavour. Once Legolas was upright, he sat leaning against the cave wall, while Strider arranged the furs around him to keep the chill away. The change of position and the fact that – for the first time in their short acquaintance – he was eye to eye with the man, did much to restore his spirits.

When Strider offered him some water, he noticed for the first time the ring on the other’s left hand. Its obvious splendour and craftsmanship was at odds with the man’s unkempt appearance and Legolas wondered how a simple ranger could have come across such a gem. He saw two serpents arranged around a green gemstone, one apparently devouring the other, but before he could have a closer look, Strider retreated. For a moment, Legolas contemplated the possibility that Strider had stolen the ring, but he soon discarded the theory. From what he had learnt about the man so far, he did not strike him as one prone to robbery.

Those fancied thoughts fled from his mind when Strider offered food. The bread was old and devoid of any flavour, but it filled Legolas’ stomach nicely and returned some energy to his exhausted body.

The longer he sat there, enjoying the food and drink Strider was offering so freely, the better he felt. He thought he could even stand and walk, should the need arise. That did not mean he would not prefer to sit a while longer, enjoying the companionable silence he shared with Strider.

The nourishment woke Legolas’ sharp mind, because all of a sudden he realized that he had – yet again – to thank the ranger for saving his life. “Strider, I would like to thank you once again. For the second time in as many hours you have saved my life. I am indebted to you and would like to repay you in some way.”

Strider looked at him intently, his eyes reflecting the small fire that was burning merrily a few feet away. He shook his head in a fashion that Legolas could only call shy. “Nay, there is no debt between us. I am glad I arrived when I did and could be of assistance to you. I require no payment beyond the gratitude you have already expressed.”

The man felt obviously uncomfortable pondering that thought and would rather change the subject, but as an elf, Legolas held things like honour, loyalty and faithfulness in high regard. He would not be able to forgive himself if he could not recompense the man in some way. “There is nothing I can do? Nothing you desire? Nowhere I can be of help? It would ease my heart if I could show you the same consideration you have shown me.”

“There truly is no need,” Strider started again and Legolas felt frustrated in the face of such needless modesty. He huffed in annoyance and Strider looked at him curiously. “You cannot be swayed in this?”

“No, I would feel better if things were even between us,” Legolas answered truthfully.

Strider seemed to think, biting his lower lip in concentration, and Legolas assumed the man was trying to come up with a task the elf could fulfill for him. “Maybe there is something...” Strider said thoughtfully, as if he was speaking with himself.

“Yes?” Legolas encouraged.

“You said you were headed to Rivendell?” At Legolas’ eager nod, Strider continued. “Then, if it is not too much to ask, would you take a message to Lord Elrond for me?” Hope flickered in the man’s eyes.

That was a task Legolas would gladly fulfill, mostly because the emotion in the man’s face told him that the message was an important one. “Of course I will. It will be my pleasure to do this for the man who saved my life!”

“I have nothing to write a letter with.” Strider looked around the cave as if he needed to apologize for the meager supplies that were at his disposal. “Will you be able to remember what I tell you? The message need not be long.”

“Do not worry, adan, elves can remember whole epics without the aid of pen and paper. I am sure I will be able to commit your message to memory.”

Obviously, Strider was only now composing the message in his head, for he fell silent for a moment until he had decided how to start. He did not look at Legolas, but instead stared at the cave wall to Legolas’ left, when he started to speak. “Tell Elrond I am well. Tell him, that while I am sorry that I had to abandon the path he had set for me, hope is not lost. Tell him, I am near and I am watching and he need not fear for me.” 

Strider paused for a moment, pondering whether or not to continue, and Legolas could not help but feel that he was intruding upon a very private moment. He had not imagined the message would be of such personal nature. “And tell his son, Elladan, that he is not at fault. There is nothing to forgive.”

There were many questions Legolas would have liked to ask Strider, but he felt he had not the right to intrude upon the man’s personal life. So he kept quiet, committing to memory what he had just heard.

Strider dared to glance at Legolas, but a moment later he was already averting his eyes again, more than aware of the suddenly somber mood in the cave. “That is all, will you be able to remember it?”

“I will, you need not fear,” Legolas said quietly, repeating the message in his mind. “Your message will reach Lord Elrond safely.”

“Good, thank you.”

Legolas was content that he had been able to offer Strider his help in return, but after some consideration he noticed that not all of his need had been alleviated. There was another debt to pay, and he knew exactly how he would like to pay it.

It was strange that he would feel such a sudden attraction to someone, but he decided he would not question the wisdom of the Valar, who undoubtedly had their reasons for pairing him with the ranger. He did not know the man’s true name, knew neither his age, whether he had family or from where he hailed. And still he longed to feel Strider’s hand on his skin again. He wanted the man to look at him unguarded.

Legolas could pretend this wish did not exist and refrain from acting now. He could catch what sleep he could, leave at first light and nothing would happen between them. It would leave Legolas wondering forever, though. He would wonder how Strider’s lips tasted, would wonder whether the man could appear still so in control when Legolas kissed every inch of his skin, would wonder whether their bodies fit together.

He would wonder for the rest of his life, but the opportunity would have passed. Legolas did not want this to stay a fantasy, he did not want to be left wondering. He wanted the man, plain and simple, and in offering Strider his body he knew he could give the man a gift the ranger silently craved: companionship.

“Twice you saved my life, so by delivering your message to Lord Elrond only one debt is paid. Will you let me repay the other debt as well?”

“As I said, there truly is no need. And there is nothing else you could do for me,” Strider said decisively, unhappy that they were revisiting the same topic again.

“There is one thing. I want to give you a gift. Would you accept it?”

“What kind of gift?” Strider asked, suspicious of Legolas’ secretiveness.

A smile played around the elf’s mouth. “Nothing that needs words. I will show you and then you can tell me whether you accept the gift.”

Strider looked doubtful, obviously wary of what the elf might be planning. But when Legolas asked him to close his eyes, he complied and waited patiently for what was to come.

Legolas paused for a moment to look at the man. Strider was sitting across from him, within easy touching distance. His eyes were closed, just like Legolas had asked. The ranger looked tired and drawn, his features were hard-edged and the skin around his eyes had darkened with lack of sleep. Still, Legolas marvelled at the other’s attractive face, framed by that impossible mess of dark hair. He took another look at Strider’s ring, trying to determine its connection with the man, but he was soon distracted by Strider’s hands. The man was overall unkempt and untidy, but his hands were clean, as if had washed them meticulously before tending Legolas’ injury. He really wanted to know how those hands would feel on his body when they were not taking care of a wound.

The silent observation only took the elf a moment and after he had looked his fill he closed the distance between them and leaned in for a kiss. Even with his eyes closed, Strider felt the elf’s presence, because he recoiled for a moment, drawing his head further back. Legolas made a cooing noise in the back of his throat and Strider stilled, silently awaiting what Legolas had in store for him.

The first brush of lips felt tentative. It was barely a kiss, for Legolas was too afraid to affront the man in some way. He pressed his lips gently against Strider’s and held still, hoping the man would get the message that Legolas would not try further advances without his consent. Strider held himself absolutely still, his eyes closed tightly, and Legolas could feel the tension in the other’s body, apparently undecided on how to react. The ranger had sucked in a sharp breath the moment Legolas had initiated the kiss, but now he was motionless and not breathing at all.

Legolas could not decipher Strider’s reaction. Was his frozen body a sign of rejection or was the man simply surprised? Legolas ended the kiss without ever actually tasting the man’s mouth. He held his head an inch from Strider’s and could feel it on his face when the ranger finally exhaled.

Strider opened his eyes with a shudder and before Legolas could even attempt to ask forgiveness for his bold advance, the ranger beat him to it. “I accept your gift,” he said in a voice heavily laden with desire. His eyes grew dark and bottomless before he leant in and returned the kiss Legolas had bestowed upon him.

Strider’s desperate advance knocked the breath from Legolas’ body. The man threw himself into the kiss as if he was starved. Their mouths crashed and Strider seemed to crawl into Legolas, throwing himself bodily against the elf. They would have toppled over had not the cave wall stopped their fall. Reflexively, Legolas opened his mouth, and Strider accepted the invitation at once. He deepened the kiss and a thrill went through Legolas’ body when the man’s tongue started to caress him so intimately. It was pleasurable and he gave a low moan of appreciation, which only urged the ranger to deepen the kiss.

He tasted Strider’s hunger, his loneliness and his need to make the best of this small blessing and Legolas’ heart soared at the realization that he had indeed found a way to repay his debt that would benefit them both.

He broke the kiss with difficulty, but he needed to know Strider’s opinion on the matter. They barely knew one another and he could hardly guess what the man wanted to happen next. “Tell me, how can I please you? My body is yours to command tonight.”

Strider’s arms came around Legolas when the man heard the admission and he held the elf close, searching the other’s eyes for a clue what he might and might not ask of Legolas. The elf noticed the man’s hesitancy and made haste to alleviate it. “Anything. What do you desire?”

“Have me, make me feel alive.” Legolas was surprised, for Strider did not strike him as one who would readily give up control. Naturally, he had assumed it would be Strider having him and not the other way round. The man’s wish suited him just fine, though, because he felt his blood begin to boil at hearing Strider’s words. 

“Gladly,” he assured Strider and the man’s eyes darkened further upon hearing Legolas’ agreement. Now, finally, Legolas saw what had him so unsettled about the man’s gaze: It was only one of Strider’s pupils that dilated – the left eye seemed alive and sparkling with barely contained desire. The right eye remained unchanged, the pupil a pinprick of black in a sea of pale grey. The realization of what this must mean came suddenly and painfully to the elf, and a surge of compassion gripped him. Strider’s right eye was unseeing, was blind, and now that Legolas knew what to look for he could see that the right eye was – not murky, no, – but certainly a shade paler than the left. 

Legolas looked into Strider’s face, trying to unravel at least some of the secrets that shrouded the man like well-fitting cloak, but he was unsuccessful. The ranger became nervous under the elf’s intent stare and in an attempt to stop the silent perusal he leant forward and stole another kiss. Legolas let himself be distracted, because he found Strider to be an able kisser. The ranger took his time exploring Legolas’ mouth and the elf’s limbs grew heavy from the warmth that started to spread in his body. He felt himself grow pliable in the man’s strong arms, but before he could give himself over to the sensation he remembered that he had promised he would be the one to do the taking. And he truly wanted Strider to simply lie back and be taken care of.

“We need...” Legolas mumbled into the kiss, because Strider seemed unwilling to let go of the elf’s sweet lips. “We cannot...” he started again, and a second time his objection was silenced by a swirl of Strider’s tongue. The man ended the kiss abruptly and scrambled to his feet. He shed his cloak, revealing a shirt of faded brown under it, walked over to his supplies and chose a small jar.

“What’s this?” Legolas asked in amusement once Strider had settled back down next to him. “Do not tell me you keep these kind of supplies up here in the hopes of seducing unsuspecting passers-by?”

Strider blushed, holding the jar in a delicate grip as if it was poisonous. “No, of course not!” He shook his head vehemently as if he needed to apologize for the jar’s existence. “It has medicinal purposes.”

“Truly,” Legolas chuckled and Strider’s eyes went wide.

“Truly!” he emphasized and Legolas had to laugh harder.

“I was jesting, forgive me!” A little more seriously, he asked. “So you are a healer?”

Strider shrugged, and even after being acquainted with him for no more than a night Legolas knew it was a sign that the man was going to downplay something. “Among other things,” he answered ambiguously and a twinkle appeared in his left eye, leaving the other appearing rather dead and dull. “Are you not satisfied with my qualities as a healer?”

“Oh, you are very skilled in that regard. I feel quite well. Well enough, actually, to do this!” Legolas lightly pushed at the man until Strider got his meaning and laid himself down on the collection of furs Legolas had occupied only hours before. Legolas looked his fill, anticipating the lovemaking that would soon take place. He imagined what he would find once he loosened the laces of Strider’s shirt and licked his lips, looking forward to tasting the other’s skin.

With nimble fingers he worked Strider’s shirt off the man, exposing his chest and shoulders to the cooler air of the cave. Goosebumps appeared on his skin and his nipples pebbled all on their own, just from the cool breeze. Strider lay unmoving as if he was awaiting Legolas’ verdict of whether his body was worth being kissed or not.

It was, Legolas decided in an instant. He looked so different from the elven lovers Legolas had known over the years. Strider’s strength was visible in the muscle rippling under his skin while his own kind resembled elven rope in that regard – they could be slim and delicate and still be strong. Strider’s skin was marked, there were small scars – nothing too large or disfiguring, and on his shoulder and upper arms there was something Strider called freckles. Legolas perused those with interest, while Strider tried hard not to blush, but failed miserably.

“You are very beautiful,” Legolas said at last while his eyes followed the trail of hair that started south from the man’s belly button before disappearing in his leggings. The elf licked his lips in anticipation.

Strider seemed honestly taken aback by Legolas’ innocent compliment. “I am a man. Men are coarse, not like your own kind, which is long-limbed and shapely.”

“So you are insulting my taste?” Legolas asked, but there was no trace of seriousness in his voice. He leant down and silenced whatever answer Strider might have given with a kiss. The naked skin of their upper bodies came in sudden contact and Strider gave a low moan, leaning into the elf in the hope of achieving more friction. The coarse material of the bandage around Legolas’ shoulder rubbed against the man’s nipple and he felt Strider gasp helplessly into their kiss, momentarily losing the rhythm of their caress. Legolas repeated the movement until the man’s breath came in pants and his skin became slick from sweat.

Legolas liked to kiss Strider. More often than not, a kiss felt like a duel. It was the first of many skirmishes for dominance and the outcome of a kiss would determine who had the upper hand in the events that followed. However, with Strider it felt different. There was no resistance from the man and in turn Legolas did not feel the need to stake his ground. They simply gave and received, each enjoying what the other had to offer. It was relaxing and Legolas found that he could easily spend the remainder of the night doing nothing but kissing the man. However, in that very moment Strider raised his hips in invitation and Legolas felt the other’s arousal hard and promising against his own belly. His own cock strained to be touched, to be sheathed in the man’s willing body, and Legolas decided that it was probably best to take things to the next level before their kisses became so desperate and heated that they both found their release this way.

Strider’s hand was running up and down Legolas’ spine and that simple touch set the elf on fire. With difficulty he abandoned Strider’s mouth and exchanged it for the other’s chin. He dipped his tongue into the cleft there and then trailed feather-light kisses down the man’s throat, wetting the skin on his clavicle. Strider turned his head back to give Legolas better access. He was breathing audibly and Legolas felt the man’s chest rise and fall heavily under his lips, but Strider kept up his own caresses, his hands never stilling. The fingertips were a little callused, Legolas could feel that against his own smooth skin, but Strider’s touches were gentle and careful as if he was holding an item of utmost delicacy. Legolas cherished the man’s care and tried to reciprocate. He suckled on the man’s right nipple and felt a shudder go through Strider’s body. The man below gave a hiss of surprise that soon turned into a deep moan of pleasure, raising goosebumps on Legolas forearms. When Legolas gently rolled the bud between his teeth, Strider’s hips came off the ground, seeking contact with Legolas’ solid form and they both rubbed their arousals together for a moment, desperately trying to catch their breath.

“Should I tease you some more?” Legolas asked, tasting Strider’s salty sweat on his tongue.

“Just touch me,” Strider said with audible effort. “Wherever, however. Just touch me.” The man’s eyes were half-lidded and a rosy blush of arousal darkened his skin. His eyes closed fully when Legolas licked his way up the man’s throat before dipping his tongue into Strider’s ear. 

“You torture me,” Strider moaned, his voice deep and almost inaudible. Legolas felt the shudder that went through the man’s form and smiled to himself, fascinated that his lover was so receptive.

Legolas stopped his ministrations and looked into Strider’s face, waiting patiently until he had the man’s attention before snaking his hand into Strider’s leggings. “Maybe I should touch you here,” he said in a voice gone silken from yet unfulfilled lust. His hand closed securely around Strider’s arousal and the man bucked desperately, his hands clutching Legolas bare forearms involuntarily.

“Yes,” he hissed, twisting his hips again and again into Legolas’ waiting fist. Legolas continued to stroke the men’s hard length, but his eyes were fastened on Strider’s face, so enraptured and flushed and absolutely unguarded. The serious mien the man had worn throughout the previous day was gone. Now he looked young, carefree and almost innocent. Almost, because when Strider opened his eyes they reflected such heated desire that Legolas’ breath caught in his throat.

Hastily, he all but ripped Strider’s leggings off him and then shed his own. He felt Strider’s gaze burn hot on his skin and looked up to see the man devour him with his eyes. His gaze roamed the elf’s body, coming to rest on his arousal, and Legolas felt his passion grow tenfold just from seeing the smoldering look Strider gave him.

Their bodies clashed again when Legolas leant down once more and finally there was nothing but air between them. He enjoyed the body heat the man was giving off, feeling it hot and burning on his own pale skin where their chests touched. He moved slightly, which caused the man’s hair to brush enticingly against his nipples. Legolas closed his eyes in bliss and repeated the movement, surprised at the profound reaction he had to something as simple as being skin to skin with another. The ranger let his hands rest on the elf’s behind, massaging gently and urging the hips forward. Legolas complied all too happily and a deep moan of satisfaction escaped his lips when his own cock came in contact with Strider’s arousal. Strider echoed Legolas’ moan, content for a moment to simply let their bodies move together.

Legolas looked around suddenly, because in his haste to be with Strider he had all but forgotten where the man had set down the jar. He lost the rhythm of their mutual movement and when Strider noticed Legolas’ straying thoughts, one of his hands came up to rest at the back of the elf’s head, drawing him in for a kiss. Legolas’ half-hearted attempt to explain what he had been looking for was swallowed by Strider’s attentive mouth, but it seemed he had understood Legolas’ plight, because his hand grabbed for something to their left. Without looking or breaking the kiss, he drew the jar nearer and popped the lid. A sweet fragrance encompassed them and Legolas whispered into their kiss, “It smells good.”

Strider smiled against the elf’s lips. “It’s even edible,” he said in a voice heavy both with desire and humour. Legolas laughed lightly in reply; he definitely liked how the man was thinking.

“It is?” He coated his fingers with the oily substance. He gently touched the tip of his forefinger against Strider’s reddened lips and the man opened for him at once, suckling at the finger as if Legolas was offering a rare delicacy. Legolas found the sight arousing, even more so because he saw the same sentiment mirrored in Strider’s one good eye. It was black with desire, and nothing of the grey iris was still visible. It made the man’s gaze seem deep and bottomless, full of unspoken promises. Legolas rested his finger lightly against the man’s eyelid, leaving a tiny trail of oil there. He kissed the right eye, his lips encountering a tiny scar his eyes had been unable to perceive. He had meant to keep quiet and not pry, but when Strider received the small gesture unflinchingly, he could not help but ask, “Does it pain you?”

There was no acknowledgment from the man, no acceptance that Legolas had guessed the injury, but there was no vehement refusal either. He just answered with a quiet “No” and both understood that they would not pursue this topic further tonight.

“Good,” Legolas mumbled while he coated his fingers with oil once again. Strider, taking his cue from the elf’s preparation, widened his legs to give Legolas better access. The elf enjoyed seeing the man so at display, at his disposal. He let his finger trail along the man’s straining cock and his sacs, eliciting a moan from above. He then carefully dipped into the promising heat of the man’s body, probing how Strider reacted. The ranger did not shy away, instead he let his legs fall further apart to invite an even more intimate touch. Legolas gave the man more and Strider hissed, a sound somewhere between surprise, pain and pleasure. The intrusion was welcome, because the man suddenly urged Legolas on with incoherent mumbling while his hips came off the ground as soon as the elf started to stroke Strider’s inner walls. The man’s eyes closed in bliss and his mouth opened invitingly. Legolas’ own body sang with fulfillment at seeing his unlikely bedpartner so in the throes of passion. He pushed his finger deeper and the man met him halfway. The croaked command of “More” reached Legolas’ ears and he complied at once, adding a second finger and then a third. Strider, meanwhile, pushed desperately into Legolas’ hand, his body coated with a glistening sheen of sweat, despite the rather chilly temperature in the cave.

“Are you ready to soar?” Legolas asked uselessly, because it was evident that Strider enjoyed the elf’s ministrations and was more than ready to take their caresses to the next level. He whimpered a little when Legolas withdrew his fingers, but his eyes went wide with anticipation when he felt the elf’s cock push against his entrance demandingly.

“Yes,” Strider slurred and gripped Legolas’ forearms strongly, urging the elf on to seek his own pleasure in the man’s willing body. It was impossible to resist the monosyllabic command, the sight of Strider’s flushed body or his own arousal demanding satisfaction. His first push into Strider’s tight heat was gentle yet firm, but when he noticed that Strider received him easily, his movement became just a little more frantic, a little more desperate. Legolas sank ever deeper into that enticing heat and once he was safely sheathed, he stilled for a moment, giving them both time to get used to the feeling of them connecting on such an intimate level. 

“Beautiful,” was all he could say before Strider’s legs came up, the changed position driving his cock even deeper into the man’s waiting heat. He groaned, feeling Strider clench around his arousal in reaction to the sound. Staying still became impossible, so he gave in to the urge to move within Strider. His strokes were deep and slow. They were deliberate and seeking to give pleasure to both Strider and himself. Strider’s hands, with their long and gentle fingers, were once again resting against his buttocks and the man was aiding Legolas’ every thrust, urging him to go deeper and faster.

Legolas’ shoulder ached, because he was putting such strain on it, and he needed both his arms to uphold his balance and drive into Strider, but the man did not mind. “Kiss me,” he said simply and Legolas did, sparks flying between them as soon as their tongues met wetly and sloppily. He felt Strider’s hand snake between their bodies and as soon as the man took himself in hand, stroking his own arousal, he went incoherent. Legolas, sensing that the ranger neared his peak, quickened his own thrusts to help Strider along. He felt the man lose the rhythm of the kiss and gasp desperately for air, before his body went tense the moment he went over the edge. Strider started to shake uncontrollably from the ripples of lust chasing through his body, his whole being nothing but heat and sweat and laboured breaths. Legolas followed soon after, needing no more than feeling the man’s essence spurt onto his belly. With his last strength, he drove deep into Strider’s body and the man received him unflinchingly, clenching around him to heighten the sensation for the elf.

With a fulfilled moan Legolas collapsed on top of the man, who enfolded the shuddering elf with arms and legs, leaving a trail of tiny kisses on Legolas’ crown of golden hair. Nothing but their harsh breathing filled the cave for neither was able to form coherent thought. Legolas felt warm and sated, as well as utterly exhausted and tired. He hoped his effort had gifted Strider with the same feeling of afterglow. Strider’s arms, that had only moments ago encircled him strongly, slackened in their hold and the man’s kisses along his cheekbone were spacing farther apart. Strider’s voice was already leaden with sleep, when he asked whether Legolas’ shoulder pained him. Soon, the man would fall asleep and Legolas would gladly join him in slumber.

With effort he drew a fur around them to keep the chill away and then he concentrated solely on Strider’s stubbly cheek against his own. He all but felt the man’s wistful smile and his closing eyes. He let himself drift towards sleep with a feeling of deep contentment, glad that fate had seen fit to let their paths cross.

“My thanks, Prince of Mirkwood.” Strider’s whispered voice reached Legolas’ ears, but his mind was already too far gone to wonder at the form of address. He simply snuggled deeper into the man’s embrace and let himself fall, knowing he would never touch ground.

~*~

Legolas had always been an early riser and even now, under such unfamiliar circumstances, he woke when the first signs of dawn were barely visible on the horizon. He drew the furs closer around him, breathing deeply of the intimate scent their lovemaking had left, and smiled to himself. It had surely been a blessing that Strider had found him – and not only because Legolas would most likely be orc-food by now had he been less lucky.

At the thought of the man, he noticed that he did not sense Strider’s presence. They had fallen asleep entangled in each other’s limbs, but now Legolas could feel neither Strider’s body next to his own nor the ranger’s breath exhaling hotly on his face. He opened his eyes and his face fell. He was alone and there was no sign of the man’s whereabouts.

His first panic dissipated when he noticed that it was still mostly dark outside. It was likely that Strider had simply stepped outside for a moment. Once he returned Legolas would usher him back under the covers, warming the man’s cold skin with his own able hands. Satisfied with his plan he waited, but the minutes ticked by mercilessly and Strider did not reappear.

The elf frowned and got up with a sigh. He did not bother getting dressed, still hoping to get back to his makeshift bed soon – preferably with Strider by his side. However, when reached the cave mouth to look outside, his heart sank further for he could see no trace of the man. What was worse, there were no footsteps in the snow leading away from the cave. Legolas’ arms came around his middle and he hugged himself, perusing the outside world closely. It had not snowed during the night and he could still see where their hurried arrival yesterday had disturbed the white blanket. There was Strider’s heavy tread and next to it a deep path displacing the snow that indicated where he himself had mostly been dragged along. Despite himself, he smiled at the memory. But where were Strider’s footsteps leading away from the cave?

Nowhere. Legolas had no other choice but to accept that Strider had disappeared without leaving a visible trace. Thinking that he had maybe missed some detail about the cave, he walked along its walls, hoping to find a secret passageway he might have overlooked in his fevered state. But there was nothing.

It would have been uncanny, had Legolas not been such a realist. He laughed at the notion that Strider might have grown wings and flown away. He discarded the possibility that the man had simply disappeared into thin air. However, he was unable to come up with a convincing solution to this riddle. For however Strider had achieved the feat, he was definitely gone.

Only when he let himself sink onto the furs again, meaning to sit a while and think things through, did he notice that the bandage around his shoulder had been changed. The cloth was white and crisp, swathed tightly around his injury to support the shoulder. Again, Legolas frowned. How had Strider managed  _that_ ? To Legolas it was impossible that the man could have moved him enough to rebandage the shoulder without actually waking the elf. 

There was a lot to puzzle over, but even though Legolas sat quietly through the sunrise, watching how shy tendrils of light reached the inner sanctum of the cave, he was unable to make sense of things. And through all of the morning, Strider stayed lost.

Legolas would have liked to wait longer, for it felt like abandoning the man to leave without saying his goodbyes, but the day promised to be sunny and windless, mocking him silently that it would be unwise to not use it for further travel. Legolas waited as long as he could, but when the sun had fully risen he accepted with a heavy heart that Strider would not come back to him and made to leave the cave. He was almost outside already, breathing deeply of the fresh mountain air, when he remembered the leaf-shaped brooch he wore on the lapel of his shirt. It would make a good farewell-gift for the ranger, so he took the small trinket off, turning it in his hand. It was nothing of value, but it showed the craftsmanship of the elves and Legolas liked the thought of Strider wearing it. He turned for the last time and put the brooch on the furs, giving his surroundings one last longing look. He would remember this cave, and the man, and their lovemaking, and hope they would one day meet again. Then he left, this time for good, and headed west, wondering about these strange happenings.

He had been right in his assumption that he had nearly crested the mountain, because after following a path leading upwards for a few more hours he spent the rest of the day in a steady descent. He made camp early and cursed his inability to cover as many miles as he would have liked, but his shoulder ached and the memory of his fever made his bones heavy and tired. The bandage held, though, and no blood was seeping through it.

On the second morning he was greeted by his horse. The gelding gave the startled elf a wet kiss on his cheek, and Legolas made an impatient noise, shooing the animal away. He was surprised that the horse had decided to take a westerly course as well, instead of going east and back to Mirkwood. However, he was in no position to question small blessings. He checked the horse for injuries and when he found none, he mounted and urged the horse into a slow canter, certain that he would reach Rivendell all the sooner now.

He probably would have never found the entrance to the hidden valley by himself, but he had not even fully descended the mountain when he came upon a group of elves who guarded the roads to Rivendell. Two of them agreed to accompany him and after they followed many a hidden path, no more than an invisible trail through dense woods, he spotted the fabled valley up ahead. It perched at the side of the mountain like a dew-drop ready to fall, glistening in a magnitude of colours. Waterfalls came down the sheer mountainside, filling the air with an impressive roar and the spray of water sparkled and glittered in the glowing light of autumn. They rode down into the valley at a sedate pace, because Legolas stopped frequently to enjoy each new vista as it presented itself, but ere the day waned they reached the courtyard of Elrond’s home and he was shown into the elf lord’s study.

The room was tidy and felt inviting, even if it was crammed with books and papers. Lord Elrond entered the study with two identical elves in tow and after introductions had been made, Legolas knew them to be the lord’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

He bowed deeply, delivering greetings from his king and father.

“I have grave news to share with you, my lord, regarding the creature Gollum,” he started and rolled his shoulder, because it was stiff from his extensive travelling during the last few days.

Elrond noticed his weary posture and the fabled healer in him surfaced. “I am sure the news can wait a few moments longer. You seem in pain, young prince.”

“Oh, it is nothing,” Legolas was quick to assure. “The wound was taken care of. I feel quite well.”

“Still, I would like to have a look at it.” Lord Elrond’s tone brooked no argument and he all but forced a flustered Legolas to disrobe right there in the study, allowing Elrond to see the shoulder. His twin sons kept quiet, trying not to intrude, but from their relieved stance Legolas could tell they were happy not to be in his stead.

Elrond prodded and probed the shoulder silently for a while, discarding the bandage and sending Elrohir for a new one. “An arrow?” he asked, once his examination was over.

“A crossbow bolt,” Legolas corrected and Elrond nodded thoughtfully.

“Mhm, you are right. It is healing, but I would still like to apply a poultice before you retire this evening. Tell me, who took care of the wound? The sentries tell me you travelled alone.”

Legolas would have liked to keep his injury and his ill-fated journey across the mountains a secret, because he felt it was not the right topic to broach with a group of elves he had just met. At the same time, he realized that it was already too late for that. He had no choice but to relate how he had been surprised by a band of orcs, being hard pressed to escape. “There was a timely rescue, though. A ranger, who guards the road, came upon our skirmish and together we disbanded the orcs. He took me back to his camp, taking care of the injury I had sustained.”

“There are no rangers posted on the mountain this time of year,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “Rivendell’s warriors patrol the nearest parts of the Misty Mountains regularly and to my knowledge they have had no dealings with any rangers.”

“I had to take his word for it,” Legolas excused himself. “Of course, I cannot be certain that he spoke the truth, but he did not strike me as someone who would lie readily.”

“Tell me his name then,” Elrond said, a look of intrigue on his face. “We see a lot of folk in Rivendell, especially rangers. Maybe I know the one who came to your aid.”

“His real name I know not,” Legolas apologized, “but he told me to call him Strider.”

The reaction to the obvious alias was instantaneous and very unexpected, at least in Legolas’ opinion. All three Rivendell elves looked at him askance, their grey eyes stormy and unsettled. He could read disbelief and anger on their faces, but there was resignation and sadness as well.

“Did I say something wrong?” Legolas asked quietly, fearing he had somehow affronted his hosts, even if he had no idea how he could have done so.

“No. No, of course not,” Elrond said distractedly. He shook himself visibly, as if he was ascending from an unpleasant dream, but even that did nothing to chase the haunted look from his face. “Can you describe this Strider for me?”

“Certainly,” Legolas offered, because he wanted to make up for the fact that he had obviously unsettled the elves’ mood. He made his description short and to the point and his audience was rapt when he described the man’s tall stature, his pale-grey eyes and the unkempt appearance. He saw a smile flit across Elrohir’s face when he mentioned the unruly dark hair. He ended with the fact that the man had worn a ring. “I would not have expected something so costly on a ranger, but he had an honest air about him. I do not think he stole it.” 

Elrond nodded, his mind clearly elsewhere. He went over to one of the many shelves lining the wall and let his finger trail along the row of books standing there. In the end, he took one out, and searched through the pages until he had found what he was looking for. He turned the book around, his long finger gracefully pointing out the depiction of a ring: two serpents, one devouring the head of the other. Legolas’ eyes were alight with recognition.

“Yes! That is the ring he wore. The gem was green and I marvelled at the craftsmanship of the piece.” However, while Legolas was satisfied that the ring had been identified, the faces around him became serious again. Elrond closed the book with a slow motion and put it back on the shelf, not commenting on Legolas’ words.

The silence stretched and when no one seemed willing to take up the thread of their conversation, Legolas began to feel concerned.

“What is wrong?” he asked, alarmed. He looked from one face to the other: Elladan’s cool demeanor only barely concealed the anger burning beneath. Elrohir looked resigned and sad. And Lord Elrond himself, having seated himself wearily at his desk, seemed desperate and tired. 

“That ring,” Elrond said at last, in a voice leaden with grief, “is the Ring of Barahir. It did indeed belong to a ranger named Strider many years ago.”

“Then, what...?” Legolas could not guess what Elrond was driving at.

The elder elf looked him in the eye then and took a deep breath. “It was Strider’s ring. We buried it with him.”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to be shocked. Elrond’s answer was so far removed from everything Legolas could have expected, that he failed to understand the deeper meaning of the elf lord’s words. “Buried? What are you saying?”

“I am saying that Strider is dead, Legolas.” The younger elf could see how the words cost Elrond. But whatever Lord Elrond believed to be true, Legolas knew what he had seen and experienced.

“But surely you are mistaken! I saw him with my very own eyes. He tended my wound. We ate together. That was no spectre! I touched him, he was just as real and alive as we are!”

“He is dead,” Elladan cried in frustration, “and nothing you say will make it less true!” Legolas would have responded, but he saw the obvious grief in Elladan’s eyes and swallowed whatever answer had been on the tip of his tongue.

Elrohir took Legolas’ arm and led him over to the settee, offering him a seat. He wearily sat down next to Legolas. “You must forgive my brother. It was in his arms that Strider died.”

Again, Legolas looked from one elf to the other, hoping he was trapped in a strange dream. He would much prefer to wake soon, still in the cave high up in the mountains. Strider would be lying next to him, drawing the furs closer around their entangled bodies.

“This cannot be,” he muttered for lack of anything else to say. 

“But it is,” Elrond said at last. The answer did nothing to calm Legolas’ racing thought. How should he make sense of these strange news? 

“What happened?” Legolas asked after a while, and even if the three elves must have expected the question, they looked as if they would rather not relate the tale. In the end, it was Elrond who took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“As you suspected, Strider was not his real name,” Elrond began his recollection. “Many rangers travel under the guise of a false name, for most of them are of noble birth. They want neither the common folk nor Mordor to know how many of them are still left. Keeping Strider’s name hidden was even more of a necessity, so much so that he himself only learnt of his true heritage when he came of age. You must know, Legolas, that Strider – or Aragorn, which was his real name – was fostered in Rivendell, for he was the last of my brother Elros’ descendants, the last in the Line of Kings. He was a son to me and a brother to Elladan and Elrohir.”

Here Elrond paused, obviously unable to go on and it was Elladan who took up the thread. “Aragorn was an able fighter. He had been tutored in the arts of war only by the best in Rivendell. He knew how to wield a sword, how to shoot an arrow, how to kill with his bare hands if the situation required it. He could track and scout and had killed many a foul beast in his young years. He had not even seen thirty summers, but while that would seem young to an elf, he was a man by human standards. He often rode with our patrols to keep the roads safe, and he proved to be a valued addition. We never thought his life would be cut short like this, but in the end everything happened so fast that there was hardly time to say the things one would like a loved one to know before he departs.”

Elladan’s voice had gone wistful before he rallied himself to continue matter-of-factly. “We were doing a sweep of the western ridges of the Misty Mountains, a group of about a dozen elves including my brother Elrohir, myself and Aragorn. We had reports that orcs had been sighted in these parts, so we took care to follow any suspicious track we might find. We were well prepared for the task. We were elves, all hardened warriors and we knew how to fight together. But once you ride out, you know that you might not return, for however skilled you are, things happen in a fight that nobody can foresee.” Elladan paused for a moment while Legolas hoped the elder twin would continue his story soon.

“We encountered a band of orcs, just as we had anticipated. We fought valiantly, but it occurred too late to me that they were trying to single Aragorn out. To this day, I do not know whether there was a more sinister plan to their action or whether they were simply attracted to the lone human amongst our group, but when I heard him call urgently it was already too late. They had separated him from our group and were pressing their advantage. I rushed to his aid and tried to divert the orcs’ attention, but before I could reach Aragorn’s side I saw him go down on his knees. The orcs swarmed him at once.”

Legolas held his breath, on the one hand desperate to know what had happened and on the other dreading the exact same knowledge. He saw Elladan’s eyes grow distant while he spoke and that alone told Legolas how much the recollection grieved the elf.

“Once we managed to get to him, kill enough of the orcs to make the rest abandon their fight, it was already too late. I remember finding him lying on his side, his hands clawing at his face, which was awash with blood. He had been shot, an arrow through his right eye. It was a strange twist of fate, and I still wonder about it, because his father was killed in the same manner when Aragorn was but two.”

Legolas remembered Aragorn’s blind eye and the compassion he had felt before turned into sadness. He realized now that Aragorn had obviously died of that very wound. The small scar Legolas had kissed so lovingly had been the faded imprint of the arrow that had killed the ranger. Bile rose in his throat.

“The wound could only be fatal,” Elladan continued in a pained voice. “We all saw that. But Aragorn had always been stubborn. He held on to life for another hour, probably the longest hour in my life. He was somewhat conscious and he certainly was in much pain, but it seemed the arrow had shattered something in his brain that would let him form coherent thought. He tried to speak, but could not. I told him to be calm, but his inability to speak agitated him. He died in my arms, a slow and agonizing death, while he could not make himself understood and none of us dared to dislodge the arrow. I would not wish such a death on my foulest enemy, but that it was my foster brother who had to suffer through it is a thought that has not let me rest since he departed this world. There is not a day when I do not ask myself whether there was not a way to prevent what happened. He would still be with us then.”

“You feel responsible,” Legolas said quietly.

“Of course I do! I was his older brother, I was leading the patrol. What happened was my responsibility.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Elrond interjected automatically and Legolas got the distinct impression that the family had had this exact conversation too often in the past.

It was then that Legolas finally understood Aragorn’s message. He had thought the words veiled and vague at the time, but now he felt that Aragorn’s message to his family could not be clearer. He wondered why Aragorn had chosen him to deliver this message, wondered how he fitted into tale. An answer would not come to him, so he decided to cherish the memory of their one night together regardless of what Aragorn’s ulterior motive might have been.

Legolas cleared his throat. “Aragorn – and I still firmly believe that it was indeed Aragorn whom I met on my journey here – asked me to deliver a message. Would you like to hear it?”

Three pairs of elven eyes looked at him expectantly, so he continued. “The message is short, but I feel it will bring you peace.” He took a deep breath. “This is what he said: ‘Tell Elrond I am well. Tell him, that while I’m sorry that I had to abandon the path he had set for me, hope is not lost. Tell him, I am near and I am watching and he need not fear for me.’”

Legolas looked at Elrond and saw how the elf lord drank in every word. “‘And tell his son, Elladan, that he is not at fault. There is nothing to forgive.’ That is what he said and I am glad I could be the one to deliver this message.”

With those words Legolas stood and bowed, realizing that the family needed a moment on its own. He left, closing the door to the study quietly behind him and stood in the hallway for a while, wondering at the strange turns life and death could take sometimes. Sadness overcame him, and he grieved in his own fashion for a man he had barely known and would never meet again.

~*~

Legolas stayed a while longer in Rivendell once he realized that his original message regarding Gollum had much larger ramifications. He met the strangest creatures during his stay – hobbits, dwarves and a man from the southern lands. Elrond and his sons sought the prince’s company whenever their other obligations allowed. Oftentimes, they would ask him to relate his meeting with Aragorn and no detail was too trivial for them to hear. After a while, when he had come to trust the peredhel enough to be truly honest with them, he confessed exactly how Aragorn and he had spent the night.

Every conversation Legolas had with them would at some point lead to Aragorn and to the elf’s eyes it was plain to see that the man had given his family a great gift. It was only now that they started to heal from the wounds Aragorn’s sudden death had cut them.

They showed Legolas the ranger’s grave, hidden away in a secluded part of Elrond’s spacious gardens. The marker was small and inconspicuous, but there were fresh flowers adorning the grave and Legolas spent many a quiet hour there, pondering the strange happenings surrounding that very special man. He was thankful having had the opportunity to meet Aragorn. At the same time he was wistful, pondering missed chances and lamenting that such a strange fate should be his.

It was at such an occasion, when he wanted to spend a few moments in the man’s company, that he noticed that the spot by Aragorn’s grave was already occupied. Lord Elrond was standing there, his head bowed and his lips moving as if he were talking. He was deep in thought, maybe in silent communion with his foster son, and Legolas disappeared back into the shadows, not wishing to interrupt the older elf. He hurried back to the main path and almost ran into Lord Glorfindel, who stood motionless, gazing into the direction from which Legolas had just returned.

“He is brooding again, is he not?” Glorfindel said dryly, one eyebrow raised. Legolas had not spent much time in the fabled elf’s company, but he knew that Glorfindel rarely wasted his time with pleasantries, instead coming right to point. 

“If you mean Lord Elrond, he is spending some time with Aragorn,” Legolas answered.

Glorfindel snorted, a sound Legolas would not have expected from one with such polished manners. “Walk with me, young prince,” he said and Legolas, slightly horrified because he could not help feeling intimidated in the Balrog Slayer’s presence, had no choice but to fall in step with the elf lord.

“Elrond was comforted by Aragorn’s message,” Glorfindel said, seemingly out of the blue, and Legolas wondered why he was being drawn into this conversation. “Yet, he is still afraid.”

Legolas had noticed that some dark shadow seemed to plague Elrond, but he would not have called it fear. “Afraid of what?” he asked.

“The future, the present. The times are dark, and are turning darker as we speak. Elrond always placed high hopes in Aragorn, and maybe rightly so. With Aragorn dead, Elrond fears that the imminent confrontation with Mordor will bring darkness and death.”

Legolas had never looked at the bigger picture. He had met Aragorn as a ranger, not as the heir to a kingdom. He had known his love, but had had no time to see his potential as a leader. To him, Aragorn was part of Elrond’s family, not a pawn to be placed on a chessboard. However, he had seen Aragorn fight, had seen a glimpse of the warrior he must have been, and he could not disregard the fact that Aragorn would have been a valuable addition to the quest the hobbit Frodo was about to embark on.

“You do not share Lord Elrond’s fear?” Legolas inquired.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I share it, but unlike Elrond I do not think that the fate of Middle Earth depends on one man alone. And I do not assume that we can see all ends; that privilege is reserved for the Valar alone. Nothing happens without them wishing it so. If it is their desire to see Sauron defeated in the upcoming war, they will offer us the strength and the means to do so. We must trust in their wisdom and not despair.”

Legolas pondered Glorfindel’s words. “Do you think it was a message of the Valar that I met Aragorn and that he told me  _hope is not lost_ ?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was just the remnant of a soul that could not find rest before saying its goodbyes. We will probably never know. But it gives me hope to know that miracles are possible in this age.”

“Miracles, yes,” Legolas said quietly, hoping the elf lord’s words were a foretelling of things to come. And not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to have Aragorn by his side right now.

It seemed, only Elrond was bothered by such dark thoughts. Legolas could see no evidence that Elladan or Elrohir shared his concerns. To them, Aragorn’s farewell message was what they needed to heal. Legolas learnt that Elrond’s twin sons often rode out to vanquish Sauron’s minions and he gladly accepted when they invited him to accompany them on one such mission. In silent accord, they set their path eastwards, giving Legolas the lead to show them the cave to which Aragorn had taken him. The journey was hard and arduous, because it was late in the year and snow had fallen heavily up in the mountains, but the three elves were not dissuaded. The reached their destination eventually, only to find the cave empty and deserted as if no living creature had ever taken refuge there.

They decided to spend the night in the cave, building a small fire and sitting around it in obvious companionship. Elladan and Elrohir shared stories of Aragorn’s youth with Legolas, interrupting one another time and again, one twin claiming the other was missing an important detail. Their recollections made Legolas’ eyes water, sometimes because Aragorn’s misadventures could only be called humorous, sometimes because the love and affection in the twins’ voices tugged fiercely at his heart.

He recounted his own meeting with Aragorn, probably for the hundredth time, speaking of Aragorn’s gentle manner and of the loving touches he had bestowed upon the elf prince.

They fell asleep feeling at peace. And when they woke the next morning, Elladan announcing that he had not felt so rested in a long while, a strange glimmer attracted their interest. There, between them, as if it had always been there, lay the Ring of Barahir, heirloom of the Line of Kings, a final farewell gift of a man to his family.

**Translation:**   
adan – human

peredhel – half-elven

_\- The End_

_(October 2008)_


End file.
